The clock marked seven in the morning. Nerea had hurt a finger; it throbbed with a constant pain, but that wasn't what worried her nor what left her breathless. It was the fear of being late.
She arrived at the Health Center and, while the nurse bandaged her finger, she looked at the clock as if each second were endless. The young nurse asked her:
—Is it that important?
—He is my husband. He has advanced Alzheimer's. He doesn't recognize me anymore.
The nurse stopped moving for an instant.
—And why does he go every day?
Nerea did not answer immediately. When she spoke, her voice broke.
—I wish I knew what it was like to live more than half a century feeling chosen. Not wanted… chosen. There's a big difference.
—My husband put me before everyone. Not because I demanded it and not out of fear, but because, for him, I came first; and not only in front of me, even when I wasn't there. I never had to compete, I never suspected; I was sure and that made me happy.
Tears ran down her cheeks.
—That changes a person’s emotional structure. When someone consistently respects you, your nervous system learns that love is quite safe. You don’t live in permanent alert; it’s very reassuring not to check every gesture. You rest and you want.
The nurse could no longer hide her emotion.
—That attachment makes you feel honored, even if you are not present. Now I am a stranger.
The silence was almost unbearable.
—It hurts as if they were tearing your history from your chest and the memories were only in you.
He touched his heart.
—I'm going because, even if he doesn't remember me, I remember who he was to me.
An hour later, at the residence, she sat in front of her beloved Luís.
He didn't recognize her. He didn't know her name. He didn't remember that that woman had been his home.
She took his hand and he did not pull it away.
Patients with Alzheimer's first lose declarative memory —that of facts, names, and dates— but emotional and bodily memory can remain much longer.
He did not push her away and she pressed her face to his.
—Luis, as long as I remember, our love will remain alive.
From John Bowlby's attachment theory, relationships built on constant respect generate what is called secure attachment. This type of bond creates circuits of calm, trust, and emotional regulation in the brain. When a person lives for decades feeling respected, their nervous system learns that love is not a threat; their self-esteem is consolidated, and it is the healthiest way to love.
Although cognitive memory deteriorates, the emotional imprint remains in the one who received it. That is why she does not abandon him. She does not act solely from romantic emotion, but from the internal coherence built over many years.
Repeated respect creates security, and security creates healthy attachment; that attachment leaves an emotional memory that does not depend on conscious recall.
That is why she goes, not because he recognizes her, but because the love she received was real, whole, and stable. And what is real is not abandoned when it becomes fragile. She was loved with dignity.
Because when they love us with true respect, even if memory fades... the heart still knows who it belongs to.
“Memory is the only paradise from which we cannot be expelled.” — Benito Pérez Galdós.
In my memory you remain dad, mom keeps remembering you.
